Elizabeth Kolbert Staff writer Project Iceworm, a scheme hatched by the U.S. Army in the late nineteen-fifties, lent new meaning to the phrase “fighting a cold war.” The plan called for boring thousands of miles of tunnels into the Greenland ice sheet. These would then be used to shuttle around nuclear missiles in a great, subglacial game of cat and mouse. Iceworm was, of course, secret. But the missile project, which never proceeded beyond the planning stage, had a public component that actually got built in Greenland’s northwest corner: a research station called Camp Century. The station boasted a mess hall, barracks, a library, a post office, and a hobby shop, all encased in the ice. Though Camp Century was mostly a front, real research was conducted there. In the mid-sixties, a team of scientists succeeded in drilling all the way through the ice sheet, about forty-five hundred feet deep. The drillers pulled up hundreds of cylinders of ice, which turned out to contain a wealth of information about the climate and helped make ice drilling a scientific subfield. Pursuant to this, in the late eighties, the National Science Foundation established a research station at the very center of Greenland, where the ice sheet is nearly two miles thick. Scientists there eventually managed to drill down more than ten thousand feet. For my piece in this week’s issue, I travelled to the N.S.F. station. It is now called Summit, and, though it sits on, rather than under, the ice, the station is still a marvel of engineering. The top of the Greenland ice sheet is one of the most remarkable places a person can visit without leaving planet Earth—a frigid, featureless expanse of pure white. I went to Summit because, even at its very highest point, where temperatures remain the coldest, the Greenland ice sheet is now experiencing melt. Is this a climatological warning sign, or something even more ominous? Further reading: Kolbert has visited Greenland’s ice sheet before. “I keep finding myself drawn back to the ice—to its beauty, to its otherworldliness, to its sheer, ungodly significance,” she writes in a piece, from 2016, about life on a shrinking landmass. Support The New Yorker’s award-winning journalism. Subscribe today » |
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